A new short story posted, check it out: Caden. Done for my creative writing class.
When people talk about Caden, and they’re being nice, they say he is very direct and confident for someone his age. Which is true, if generous. If someone says something cheeky, challenging him, he never shies away from a confrontation. Not that he’s physically aggressive or belligerant, you understand. He is just so self-assured that, once involved in a verbal duel, he never gives in. This bothers some people. Admittedly, he is not always tactful. The filter that most people have between brain and mouth is just not present in Caden. On the other hand, there’s nothing false about him either – he just says it as he sees it.Caden’s stepfather was rather well-off, and so could afford to send him to the same private college where, as chance would have it, I had been awarded a full scholarship. We ended up in the same hall. My first encounter with him was when I was building a loft for my bed, and I hear this casual drawl from the doorway,
observing that I’m doing such-and-such wrong, and that the best way to do it is so-and-so. This would have annoyed me in any case, but the fact that he said it completely matter-of-factly without any trace of condescension, and then just walked off, rubbbed me the wrong way. The fact that he ended up being right didn’t help much either.
I thought he was a complete ass.
Being at a small college and living in the same dorm meant we ran into each other fairly often. There were a few more encounters like the first one, and I realized eventually that he wasn’t trying to be mean or even singling me out – it’s just how he is, and everybody gets the same treatment. And as often as his know-it-all attitude caused confrontations, I never heard of him actually getting in a fight. He wasn’t a wuss, he just never let other people get to him that much. So when it happened that we rushed the same fraternity, and got assigned to live together in the frat house our sophomore year, I had at least gained a little respect for him. I still didn’t like him much and had no idea what he thought about me, but I thought we could tolerate living with each other.
Caden turned out to be an ideal roommate. He wasn’t in the room much, and when he was, he kept quietly to himself – except, of course, when I was doing something he thought could be done in a better way. He didn’t eat my food, he didn’t play loud music or have parties in our room, and he wasn’t any messier than me. I had a girlfriend at this time, and aside from a little grin, he was suprisingly cool when I suggested some sort of signal I could leave that he shouldn’t come in the room. The only real negative about living with Caden was that he talked, or at least made incoherent sounds, in his sleep – loudly.
I had ignored this for a few weeks, but one night when I had a huge test the next day, he was being so loud I couldn’t sleep. I thought that if I woke him up, it’d shake him out of the bad dream and he’d go back to sleep quietly.
“Caden.” No response. A little louder, “Caden, wake up.” Nothing but more mumbled sounds, which were sounding more like real words tonight. “Dammit.” I climbed down from my loft and walked over to Caden’s bed.
Whatever dream he was having was a bad one. He was laying on his stomach, tossing around, hands in fists around his sheets. He kept pushing the bed, as if he was pushing something away in his dream. I could hear the words now, and it was strange, it didn’t sound like Caden at all, but someone who was…..scared? Caden, the supremely self-confident expert, scared of something?
“Get away……..don’t touch me………Frank, don’t, please………no, don’t hurt me, I won’t- please don’t!” The fear and desperation in his voice was making me feel sick. I reached out and shook his shoulder, and Caden turned into a tornado.
He whirled up out of bed, pushing me away, and suddenly there was a knife in his hand, as he stood panting, the fear from his dream etched all over his face. The knife was very clearly pointed at me, and from his stance he very clearly knew how to use it. Holy shit.
“Caden,” I said very carefully, hands up in front of me for whatever good that would do. I didn’t think he recognized me yet. “It’s just me. You were talking in your sleep again, so I woke you up. It was just a dream.”
His eyes seemed to clear after a few moments, and he lowered the knife a bit. “A dream?” I nodded. “Shit.” He kind of collapsed on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. I couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.
“Hey……man, are you ok?” Hesitation, then a nod. “Um…..can I do anything?”
He looked up, directly into my eyes. No tears, but an expression half heartsick and more than a little exhausted. “Will you promise not to tell anyone about…” a vague gesture with his knife hand, “all this?”
As if anyone could refuse with that haunted look staring them in the eyes. Shit. “Sure, man. No problem.”
His relief about killed me. “Thank you.” I’d never heard someone say thank you that way before, like they meant it more than anything. The phrase ‘from the bottom of his heart’ took on a new, less cliché meaning.
He put the knife back under his pillow, and made like he was going to go back to bed. He turned around again, and this was the Caden I knew. At ease, sure of himself, saying a polite goodnight before rolling over – as if nothing had happened. I stood staring for another minute, unable to believe that was all. I’m sure my mouth was hanging open. Then I shrugged and went back to bed, but before I fell asleep I thought I heard him say thank you again.
When Caden’s family comes to visit on campus, people always ask afterwards how his stepdad, Frank, got the huge scar on his face. Caden will give his usual grin, daring people to believe him and daring them not to, and tell them its from a knife fight a long time ago. He’ll always look at me after this statement, if I’m around – not a warning, just an acknowledgement. I’ve never told what happened that night, and though he’s never mentioned it again, it made a bond between us. We roomed together the rest of college, and every Christmas he would get me a pair of earplugs – with instructions on how to wear or modify them so they worked the best, of course.